


things that go bump in the night

by Batik



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Allergy warning: contains corn (lots and lots of corn), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 03:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/pseuds/Batik
Summary: I hope you like it, Susu_st!(Thanks to those who held my hand and made the writing process less frightening!)





	things that go bump in the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Susu_st](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susu_st/gifts).

> I hope you like it, Susu_st!
> 
> (Thanks to those who held my hand and made the writing process less frightening!)

“So much corn,” Geno said, brow furrowing as he stood on the well-lighted gravel path and looked around, taking in the small concession stand ahead to his left, the covered pavilion with seating next to it, the wall of cornstalks to the right.

“It’s a corn maze, G,” Tanger said. “Of course there’s corn.” 

“I’m know, I’m know,” Geno said. “But not expect so much, you know. Corn signs lead us here. Cornstalk decorations everywhere. People eating popcorn. And, like, what even is cornhole? Is, like, a lot, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Tanger said. “But you have to give them credit for sticking to their theme. No one’s going to mistake this for anything but a giant cornfield. And cornhole is a game. Paulie had it at his Fourth of July party a few years ago.”

“Oh, wasn’t there,” Geno said. “Think that when I go home, visit Mama and Papa. Is ridiculous America have so much food can turn whole fields of it into entertain.”

“Entertainment,” Tanger corrected with ease of habit. 

Geno rolled his eyes and ignored the comment, even as he filed it away for later use.

“Who you think have idea of corn maze?” he asked instead. “Who first person think, ‘I’m cut path in corn, invite people to play in it, get lost’?”

“I have no idea, but it’s apparently a thing,” Tanger said. “Maybe just another weird American thing, but definitely a thing. Alex has been begging for days for Cath and me to bring him. They have a huge bin that’s some kind of cross between a ball pit and a sandbox that’s nothing but dried corn kernels. One of his Little Pens friends told him about it and now he wants to come.”

“He want to go in scary maze, too?” Geno asked. “Or just roll around in corn, eat popcorn?”

“I’m not sure. Cath wanted me to check out the whole place, anyway, just in case.”

“Smart,” Geno said. “Pretty good crowd, though. Should get in line. Looks like maze entrance over there.”

“Yeah, but I think we have to get our tickets at the concession stand,” Tanger said. “Come on.” 

Geno obligingly followed Tanger toward the concession stand, where one line clearly was longer than the others. A sign above that cash register specified “Maze tickets” — spelled out in dried corn kernels glued to a wood plank. 

Despite the line, it didn’t take long for Geno and Tanger to move up to the front and, as Geno waited for Tanger to pay for both of them, he looked around, curious about the crowd and fascinated by the extreme “all things corn” vibe of the place. If there was such a thing as a “corn god,” this had to be its temple.

In glancing around, he looked at the line to his right, taking in the mix of teenagers and adults — some in costumes, some not — and sucking in a breath as his eyes landed on a very attractive man studying the handwritten menu board. Hot!guy looked a lot like Sidney Crosby, which automatically made him hot, in Geno’s book.

Of course, there was no way it was Sid. Geno had nursed that crush for years but, despite living in Pittsburgh for the past decade, he’d never been one of the many people fortunate enough to run into Sid in the grocery store or while running some other mundane errand around town.

It didn’t stop Geno from using Sid as his scale against which he judged every man he met.

This man wasn’t Sid, either, despite the resemblance. Surely Sid, notoriously low-key Sid, wouldn’t wear a Pens hoodie in public if he was trying not to be spotted — and Geno didn’t recognize the guys he was with as Pens, either.

That was … a good thing, maybe. Maybe it meant Geno had a shot at asking the guy out, assuming not!Sid also was not!straight and not!uninterested.

The ticket line wasn’t separated from the concessions line by that much space, and Geno took a casual step to his right, pretending to study the menu as he gently bumped into not!Sid. Maybe it wasn’t the most original way to meet a guy, but it had worked for him before. Still, he was glad he had made it a small bump when he practically bounced off of hot!guy’s shoulder, because hot!guy didn’t even flinch and Geno was pretty sure he would have hurt himself had they collided any harder.

“So sorry,” he said, stumbling over his words as he tried to recover some of his mental and physical equilibrium. “Was look at menu, not watch where I go.”

Hot!guy turned and looked at Geno — hot!guy’s friends did, too — and Geno felt off-balance all over again when he found himself locking eyes with an intense hazel gaze.

“No problem,” hot!guy said, a lopsided grin illuminating his truly beautiful face. “The caramel apples can be distracting.” 

Geno was searching for a response to that — something ideally clever and in English — when he startled as Tanger appeared at his shoulder.

“Dude, chill,” Tanger said, handing over a small yellow tab of paper with “Ticket” printed in large letters and a serial number along one end. “We aren’t even in the maze yet and you’re already jumpy. Take your ticket and let’s go.” 

Geno reached out to take the ticket from Tanger and, with one more glance toward hot!guy, followed Tanger toward the maze entrance.

“Why do you keep looking back at the concession stand?” Tanger asked as they waited for permission from the attendant to enter the corn maze.

“Cute guy in line,” Geno said. “Look like Sid. Think maybe I ask him out if he still around when we get through maze.”

Tanger rolled his eyes, albeit fondly. 

“You think every dude with dark hair and muscles looks like Sidney Crosby,” he said. “Even as a happily married straight guy, I can’t fault your taste. But you really need to get over this obsession you have with a freaking hockey superstar and give a more attainable guy a shot. You know there are at least two guys at the office who would be happy to date you, or at least be fuck buddies.”

“Not obsessed,” Geno said defensively. “And hot!guy at concession stand not Sid, and I want ask him out, so your argument invalid.”

“Sure, G,” Tanger said. “Whatever.”

Geno was saved from responding by the fact that it was their turn to enter the maze and he listened to the attendant as she handed both Tanger and him a flashlight and also gave Tanger a flag. She explained that there were a few watch stands built around the edges of the maze, with employees keeping an eye out from above for people in trouble in the maze. If they got lost and needed help finding their way out, Tanger could raise the flag and someone would help them.

There were faint clicks as they turned on their flashlights and, with a glance back over his shoulder to note that hot!guy and his friends now were making their own way to the maze, Geno aimed his light at the ground and followed Tanger into the maze. Even with the flashlight beam, Geno wasn’t prepared for just how tall the corn was and how thoroughly the towering stalks blocked out the residual illumination from the well-lighted common area outside the maze.

It was dark.

Geno instinctively crowded a bit closer to Tanger as he aimed his flashlight beam higher and they started forward. He could hear the muffled sounds of other people ahead of them in the maze, their voices muted by distance or the wall of cornstalks, their footsteps rustling in the crunch of dried cornhusks under foot.

The logical voice in his head identified the various sounds and told him they were harmless but, in the near pitch-blackness, the effect was eerie.

“Glad I’m skip ‘Children of the Corn’ movie as kid,” Geno said. “Why corn have to be so tall?”

“Does it bother you that there’s something you can’t see over top of?” Tanger laughed, deciding to turn to their right as they reached a Y-shaped intersection on their path. “Now you know how most of the planet feels on any random Tuesday.” 

“Not bother,” Geno said. There was no way he was admitting any qualms to Tanger. “Just different. Too tall. Is possible for thing to be too tall, too skinny. Corn too tall.”

“Want me to hold your hand?” Tanger asked, following a bit of a curve before this time choosing a left turn and continuing ahead.

Geno scowled at the back of Tanger’s head, even as he knew it was pointless. He doubted Tanger would have been able to see Geno’s face in the darkness — seriously, the waning crescent moon wasn’t offering any light — even if he were looking directly at him. There was no way Tanger could see with the hood on his hoodie up to block against the night’s chill. 

“No,” Geno finally said as they took another left turn at a T-shaped intersection. The route to the right was clearly a dead end, complete with what appeared to be a skeleton sitting on a hay bale, its back haphazardly supported by a corner built of cornstalks. “But maybe I go back, find cute guy, hold his hand instead.”

Tanger laughed as they reached another intersection.

“And who would be protecting whom?” he asked. “Which way?” 

‘Um, that way,” Geno said after shining his flashlight beam to both his left and right and waving it a bit to their right. “Left just take us back toward start, yes?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tanger said. “Though there’s no guarantee there’d be an easy exit, even if we were 5 feet from the entrance.”

“Go right anyway,” Geno said, beginning to walk again as Tanger did just that.

This section of the route was somewhat longer and they walked for a while without having anymore decisions to make about turns. Geno wasn’t too focused on the path ahead, shining his flashlight beam along the wall of corn, looking for the next cut amid the stalks, when Tanger yelped and jumped back, stepping solidly on Geno’s foot.

“Ow,” Geno said, swatting at Tanger’s shoulder. “Why you do that?”

And then he saw why — coming toward them in the darkness was a shadowy figure. Geno aimed his flashlight beam higher to get a better look — and immediately regretted it. The thing was creepy. Even if Geno knew it was just makeup and a bit of acting, he was sure he didn’t want to find out what it would do if it got any closer.

“Left, left,” he said, poking at Tanger’s shoulder. “Go.” 

Give him credit — Tanger listened and hurried left, ducking down a route that appeared to be free of monsters.

They made it a short way down the new path and, thankfully, didn’t spot anything likely to go bump in the night. Geno had just started to relax a bit, his eyes growing oh-so-slightly more accustomed to the lack of decent lighting, when a high-pitched scream pierced the more general noises of the maze. He jumped, even as he tried to make himself smaller, shoulders hunching in and eyes growing wider as he looked around for the source. 

“What the —” he started, the rest of the sentence dying on his lips as someone behind him shouted “move, move” and there was a hand on his back that definitely wasn’t Tanger’s. He wasn’t not going to follow those orders, so he moved, shoving at Tanger until they were both running, side by side. 

Geno then chanced a look over his shoulder and, seeing nothing there, stopped running. He bent over with his hands on his knees as he worked to catch his breath, the adrenaline coursing through his body affecting him more than the actual physical exertion had.

“Fuck,” he said, straightening and turning toward Tanger.

Except Tanger wasn’t there. Geno was staring at a wall of corn.

Geno raised his flashlight and shined it back up the path down which he’d just run. No Tanger. And no Tanger ahead on the path, either. The logical thing to do was to backtrack and find his friend, but Geno really wasn’t interested in another encounter with whatever had been chasing them to begin with. Maybe Tanger simply took a fork in the road and they would meet up again if Geno just keep moving forward.

And it was a corn maze, for goodness sake. It was entertainment. He wasn’t actually going to run afoul of some otherworldly creature if he ventured forward on his own until he could find Tanger again.

Right?

With that in mind, Geno continued on the path he had chosen until he found a cut in the corn that allowed him to take a right — the direction in which Tanger presumably had headed. The cornstalks seemed denser, the footpath narrower in this new section, and Geno could feel the long, dry leaves of the stalks brushing his shoulders as he followed a curve that was the only real option presented. 

He passed three left turns that jutted off of the curve, but they clearly were dead ends with large, illuminated jack-o-lanterns casting an eerie glow where they provided a road block ahead of a corn wall.

Geno walked a bit farther, until he finally reached another T-shaped intersection. He was pretty sure he had walked a 180 and was right back on the path he’d just left. Still not inclined to backtrack toward whatever had been chasing him and Tanger earlier, he had just stepped onto the path and headed to his right again when he heard footsteps and something collided with his back, knocking him to the ground and leaving him breathless.

It didn’t help his lung capacity any when he scrambled to turn over to see what kind of maze creature he was facing — and found a solid wall of darkness looming over him.

Geno dug the heel of his tennis shoe into the mix of dirt and cornhusks underneath him and pressed up with his palms, prepared to scramble back and away.

“God, I’m sorry,” a breathless voice said. “Are you OK?”

Geno went still, blinking and squinting in the glare of a flashlight — even the indirect beam aimed to the right of his face was bright with his eyes adjusted to the gloom — as he tried to sort through his confusion and place the voice. 

As he reached up to accept the hand offered to help him to his feet, Geno placed the voice — it was hot!guy from the concession stand. And, based on how easily he helped Geno to his feet, he clearly had some strength hidden under that Pens hoodie.

“Funny how we keep bumping into each other,” he said as he straightened, his grip in hot!guy’s hand pulling him close and forcing him to tilt his head down to look at hot!guy’s face. Geno felt something in his ribs tighten as hot!guy tilted his head back and returned the look, his gaze more searching.

“Are you OK?” hot!guy asked again. “Are you hurt?” 

“Am fine,” Geno said. “Ego bruised little bit, maybe. But fine.”

“Sorry,” hot!guy said again. “Something popped up behind Mike and Andy and me, and we started running.” He looked around. “I’m not sure where they are now.”

“Is OK,” Geno said. “Same thing happen to me and Tanger. Not know where he is now. Maybe you and me stick together now? Not deal with corn zombies on own?”

“Sure,” hot!guy said. “These things are always more fun with a friend.” 

“Geno,” Geno said, taking a step back but not removing his hand from hot!guy’s grip. “Name’s Evgeni, but friends call me Geno.”

“Hi, Geno,” hot!guy said. “Friends call me a lot of things. You can call me Darryl.”

“Nice to meet, Darryl,” Geno said. Hot!guy didn’t really look like a “Darryl,” in Geno’s opinion. But maybe he was biased because this guy looked so much like Sid. Besides, he hadn’t really considered himself a “Geno” until “Evgeni” proved too much for North American tongues. He didn’t think it was that complicated, but who was he to judge? He was sure there were American names that he had butchered on more than a few occasions.

“Shall we go?” Darryl asked, letting go of Geno’s hand — Geno wouldn’t have objected if he hadn’t — and swinging his flashlight toward the path ahead.

“Probably good idea,” Geno said, catching a glimpse of his own flashlight on the ground as Darryl’s light skimmed over it. He bent to pick it up as they started forward. At least he was back on a path that was two-man wide and he didn’t have to choose whether to lead or follow Darryl. Plus, walking side by side meant their shoulders bumped pretty readily. Geno could get used to that.

When they reached a possible turn, Darryl shined his flashlight that direction. 

“Want to try this one?” he asked.

“We can if you want, if you want more walk,” Geno said. “But think that one I was just on. Think it just loop back around. Not complain, since it led me back to you, but ...”

“But maybe we’ll just keep moving ahead,” Darryl said. “Since we’re not sure where our friends are but they’re probably not there.”

There were two more possible right turns that they skipped before taking the next available turn to the left. It put them on another curving path that led to a crossroads with dead ends in both directions. At least there was nothing chasing them at this point, the dead ends decorated with an animatronic witch stirring a foggy soup in a large kettle in one direction and a pile of pumpkins in the other.

They backtracked and continued along their original path until they found another turn and took a dog-leg to the left before ending up on a long stretch to the right. There was a group ahead of them in the distance, but it clearly wasn’t Tanger or Darryl’s friends, so they made no effort to catch up. 

They were nearing another corner when Geno startled as snarling and growling came from his left through the corn. It sounded as if there was a large, angry dog — or two — right next to him. The cornstalks that had seemed so suffocating just moments earlier suddenly seemed paper thin and Geno pressed against Darryl, doing what he could to distance himself from the sound and the possibility of the animals breaking through the vegetation at any moment.

Geno was grateful when Darryl didn’t laugh but instead pried Geno’s fingers out of the death grip they now had on his sleeve and clasped Geno’s hand in his. He also picked up the pace, pulling Geno behind him as they rounded the corner and the sound disappeared as readily as it had begun.

He felt better without the threat of wolves only inches away, but he was happy to continue holding Darryl’s hand, appreciating both the reassurance and the warm thrill that settled in his gut at the touch.

Geno appreciated the contact even more a few steps later, when — of all the fucking things — a clown popped out of the darkness like a fucking demented jack-in-the-box — though weren’t all clowns demented and all jack-in-the-boxes well on their way to it? — and grabbed for them.

This time when they started to run, Darryl’s grip on Geno’s hand ensured that they didn’t accidentally get separated the way Geno and Tanger had. Instead, they made the left turn together and navigated a slight dog-leg that took them down a path to the right.

It was quiet down this path and Geno and Darryl took a moment to stop and consider their options. There really wasn’t much of a choice that they could see, since this path only went one direction for a short while before taking a right turn. 

“Do you want to see what’s this direction or go back out to the path we were on?” Darryl asked.

“Might as well see this way,” Geno replied. “Is quiet, probably means it another dead end. But not gonna complain about not being chased. As long as can still hold your hand.”

Darryl grinned up at him and Geno was pretty sure he saw something soft and sweet under the layer of shadows blanketing Darryl’s face. Instead of a verbal answer, Darryl paired the grin with a squeeze of Geno’s hand before beginning to walk toward the next corner.

That simple hand squeeze did funny things to the backs of Geno’s knees and he stumbled just a bit as he started after Darryl, who looked back over his really nicely built shoulder with an “OK?” and another quick squeeze of Geno’s hand at Geno’s affirmative nod and a “Da, yes.”

The path did prove to be something of a dead end. Despite making a few more turns, they soon reached a point where they could go no farther. A “Dead End” sign tied to a few of the cornstalks above a hay bale with two skeletons seated on it seemed to confirm as much, however unnecessarily. 

Still, Geno couldn’t help but look at the skeletons for a moment, noting one skeleton’s arm around the other, their hands clasped. 

“Know is suppose to be scary,” he said. “But kind of sweet. If have to die, at least they die together.” 

“You’re a romantic,” Darryl said, the grin evident in his voice. “You know it’s entirely possible some kids came through and did that as a joke, not that the maze designers intended it that way.” 

“Shush,” Geno said, not at all harshly. “Don’t spoil their moment. Sure, Romeo, Juliet more dumb than sweet — silly kids just die no good reason. But if two people truly love and they both have to die — have to, can’t save, not just think can’t live without each other — why not die together, be happy knowing they love to end?”

“Yep, you’re definitely a romantic,” Darryl said. “But it’s sweet. I like it. The way I kinda like you.”

“Good,” Geno said. “I’m see you in line, think cute. Want to ask out. But not get chance. Maybe if we make it out of here, not die in corn, I can do then?”

“I’d like that,” Darryl said.

“And if we never make it out, we can curl up on hay bale, figure out fun way to kill time while wait for the end together,” Geno said, grinning cheekily at Darryl. “Some way that involves making out.”

“Or we could push our way through the cornstalks until we find a way out,” Darryl countered. It’s not like they’re brick walls or anything like that.”

“So sad, Darryl. Not a romantic bone in your body,” Geno lamented with an exaggerated pout.

“Fine, fine,” Darryl said. “We could curl up on a hay bale and kill some time before pushing our way through the cornstalks. Because you’re cute and all, and the making out part of that plan sounds, um, not unappealing. But I hope you don’t take it personally when I say I’m not really ready to commit to dying together in a cornfield.”

“You have best plan,” Geno said, letting go of his pout to grin widely again. “A bit of make out — and no one die! Live to make out again another day!”

“While we’re here, though …”

And with that Darryl leaned up into Geno’s space and pressed his lips to Geno’s. It took Geno a second to get with the program before he kissed back.

It was a soft kiss, warm against the cool October air, and Geno shivered as Darryl cupped his jaw in one palm and tilted Geno’s head to perfect the angle. Darryl’s lips were plush against Geno’s and Geno gave himself up to it, wrapping his arms around Darryl’s waist, his fingers gripping at firm muscle.

For a second Geno thought Darryl was going to take the kiss deeper, teasing his tongue along the seam of Geno’s lips as if asking for permission to enter. But just as Geno began to grant it, screams broke through the quiet that had surrounded them. Darryl groaned and pulled back.

“We should go,” he said, clearing his throat as Geno stared down at him, still dazed and caught up in the moment. “This is nice, but there are a lot of people around, and …”

“And any of them could end up here, with us, at any time,” Geno finished.

“Yeah,” Darryl said.

“OK, we go,” Geno said, reaching to take Darryl’s hand again.

“Just a sec,” Darryl said, tugging his hand from Geno’s grip. He grabbed the hood on his hoodie and flipped it up, tugging it so his face was even more shadowed than just the darkness provided.

“You cold?” Geno asked.

“Not really,” Darryl said, reaching for Geno’s hand. “Not when I have you to keep me warm.”

“Such sweet talker,” Geno said, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Let’s go. We get out of maze, figure out rest of night.”

“We should probably find our friends, too,” Darryl reminded as they began backtracking to the main path. “They might appreciate that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they found cute boy to kiss in maze, too,” Geno said. “Would rather be lost with them.”

“My friends are married, and not to each other,” Darryl said. “I doubt they’re making out in a dark corner.”

“OK, yeah, should probably find.” Geno agreed as they reached the spot where they’d ducked down this path to start with. “Which way?”

“Maybe left?” Darryl said. 

“Not sure. I’m think we come from left,” Geno said. “Want go back? Or should try right?”

“Might as well keep moving forward,” Darryl said. “Right it is.”

∞ ∞ ∞

From there the path went a few long stretches without any corners to turn, and Geno suspected they were on the outer edge of the maze. Some parts of the path were narrow and they had to walk single-file, while other parts allowed them to walk side by side. Still other times, they’d encounter people on the path headed in the opposite direction and they’d return to single-file as they passed, Darryl tucking in behind Geno and letting Geno take the lead.

The scares were fewer through this part of the maze, relying more on decorations than live “monsters”. Signs poked out from amid the corn, threatening doom to anyone who strayed from the path, and thick cobwebs dragged across Geno’s face, clinging briefly before falling away as Geno and Darryl moved forward. 

And then they made one final right turn and could see the exit to the maze in front of them, the farm’s lighted grounds spreading out before them. 

“We made it,” Geno said, squeezing Darryl’s hand.

“We did,” Darryl agreed, giving Geno a small smile before freeing his hand to tug on the edge of his hood and then slide both hands into the pocket at the front of his hoodie. “And no corn was harmed in the process.”

“At least not by us,” Geno agreed with a laugh. “Corn probably not happy with farmer for cut maze, but we do nothing to make it angry.” 

They’d barely set foot outside the maze when Geno heard his name being called and looked up to find Tanger heading his way. 

“Hey, man,” Tanger said. “You disappeared on me.”

“I’m disappear?” Geno asked, the faux incredulity heavy in his tone. “I just run, look up, you gone. You disappear.”

“Whatever,” Tanger replied, flicking a curious look in Darryl’s direction. “I see you found a friend.”

“I did,” Geno agreed, his grin spreading wide. “Remember cute guy at concession stand? The one I say look like Sidney Crosby? This him, this Darryl.”

Geno looked at Darryl, who was looking — uncomfortable? He was still trying to puzzle out the why of that when Tanger turned his gaze to Darryl.

“Good to meet you, man,” he said, holding out a hand that, after a moment’s hesitation, Darryl shook. “Trust me, when Geno says you remind him of Sid, that’s about the highest compliment you’re going to get. He’s been hot for him for years.” 

Darryl looked like he was about to say something but, before he could, his friends appeared. It didn’t make him look any less uncomfortable. 

“Dude, where’d you go?” one of them asked. “We looked for you, but …” 

“I think I went left when you two went right,” Darryl said, finally relaxing again. 

“And yet you still made it out of the maze,” the other friend said with a teasing but good-natured grin before looking to Geno. “You must be good with directions, because Darryl here could get lost in his own house.”

“To be fair, Mike, it’s a big house,” said the first friend, presumably — was it, Andy, Darryl had said? Andy and Mike?

“So, what?” Geno asked. “I hit on hot guy and he not just cute but rich, too? How I get so lucky?”

Mike and Andy shot each other a look before looking at Darryl, whose face was doing — something Geno couldn’t translate — and then looking back at Geno.

“Uh,” Andy started.

“Is OK,” Geno said. “Promise I’m not gold-digger. Didn’t know Darryl had money. Just think he cute, sweet. Want to get to know.” 

“But …” Darryl finally spoke. “Tanger said you thought I looked like Crosby. How do I know you’re interested in me and not some celebrity fantasy?”

“You already better than fantasy, Darryl,” Geno said. He wanted to take Darryl’s hand again, or pull him into a hug, but Darryl’s hands were still firmly buried in his hoodie pocket and his body language reminded Geno of the feral cats in his neighborhood — skittish and ready to flee at the first wrong move. And he wasn’t quite sure if Darry’s aversion to PDA included PDA in front of his friends. “First, you real. Sid not. OK, well, he is. But not really in my world. Probably have nothing in common except he like to play hockey, I’m like to watch him play.”

“Would you like to have him in your world?” Darryl asked, his gaze pinning Geno from amid the shadows of his still hooded face. “If you had to choose between us — me or Crosby — who would you pick?”

“What you mean?” Geno asked. He could feel Darryl’s eyes on him. He just wished he could see them more clearly. “I’m pick you. Of course I’m pick you.”

“What if you could have us both?” Darryl asked quietly.

Geno was still puzzling through that when he heard Tanger’s soft “holy shit” beside him.

“You’re him,” Tanger said, still quiet but a bit louder than the near whisper at which the explicative had escaped his lips.

Darryl nodded once but didn’t speak.

“Oh, my god,” Geno finally said, all of the pieces at last making it through his translation filters. “You’re really Sid?”

“Yeah,” Darryl — Sid — said. “I am.” 

“So sorry,” Geno replied, taking a step back. “Not know. Can’t believe I not know, but I not. Sorry to bother you. We’ll go now, leave you alone. Promise I’m not stalker.”

“Geno,” Sid said, finally taking a hand out of his pocket and reaching toward Geno before letting it drop to his side. “I never thought you were. I like you. I wanted a chance to get to know you better.”

“But why lie about name?” Geno asked. He had just about begun to believe that this guy — Sidney Crosby, apparently — might be interested in him when he recalled that Sid had very specifically told him his name was Darryl.

“I didn’t lie,” Sid said. “I didn’t say my name _is_ Darryl. I said my friends _call_ me Darryl.” 

“And we do, sometimes,” Mike spoke up in Sid’s defense. “It’s one of many things — and one of the nicer things — we call him. Guys started calling him ‘Darryl’ in juniors and it stuck.”

“It’s good for when we’re out and he’s trying to fly under the radar,” Andy chimed in. “You trying yelling ‘Sid’ in a crowd in western Pennsylvania and see how much attention that gets you compared to yelling ‘Darryl’.”

“That fair,” Geno admitted. “No hard feelings. It was fun in corn maze with you — Sid — but we go now, leave you to your night.” 

“Hang on,” Sid said. “Back there in the maze, it was good. I liked it. I _do_ like you. And you said you were going to ask me out when you thought I was Darryl.” 

“I was,” Geno agreed. “But … you Sidney Crosby. How I compete with that?”

“There’s no competition,” Sid said. “Unless you’re an undercover Flyer.”

“In which case there’s definitely competition,” Mike interjected with a grin.

“I’m not asking for dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Pittsburgh,” Sid continued, ignoring his friend. “But maybe we could get some caramel apple cider at the concession stand? My treat, your treat, Dutch treat, whatever.”

Geno looked at Sid for a second, weighing his words, before looking at Tanger — whose face clearly said “Don’t blow this or I’ll never let you hear the end of it” — and then at Sid’s friends — both of whom looked like they were ready either to hug Geno or punch him, depending on his response.

“You right,” he finally said as he turned back to Sid. “Least I can do is buy you caramel apple cider. And your friends, too.”

“And then we’ll see about that date?” Sid asked with a soft grin.

“Yes,” Geno said, bumping shoulders with Sid as he stepped past him and began heading for the concession stand, Sid, Tanger, Mike and Andy falling in behind him. “Assume apple cider good and your friends not ready to drag me back into maze, tie me to cornstalk and leave me to die when we done, would like a date, yes.” 

“Good,” Sid replied. “Me, too.”

“I’m take you to Meat and Potatoes for dinner,” Geno said, naming the gastropub in Pittsburgh’s Cultural District. 

“Yeah?” Sid said, the word somewhere in that gray area between question and agreement.

“Figure we get enough corn tonight,” Geno said, grinning wide at Sid. “Switch it up with Meat and Potatoes.”

Sid looked at Geno for a split second before practically doubling over as a peal of laughter shook his body. He was a bit breathless by the time he’d started to compose himself but managed to gasp out a "You're so ... corny!" before another round of laughter burst forth.

“Oh, my god,” Tanger said, looking incredulously at Mike and Andy, who were sharing a look that said Sid’s reaction wasn’t at all unexpected. “They clearly belong together. G tells the lamest jokes, and your boy’s apparently into them.”

**Author's Note:**

> I based their journey through the maze on the design for the [2016 corn maze](https://icedbatik.tumblr.com/private/image/188405664042/tumblr_SdXRV9cHw1qjS8lpV) at [Gearhard Farms](http://gearhardfarms.com/2016-Corn-Maze) in Murrysville, Pennsylvania, which honored both Pittsburgh's bicentennial and the Pens' fourth Stanley Cup win.


End file.
